Paradox
by thegaygumballmachine
Summary: Alice’s parents don’t even really notice her anymore, but he does. He notices everything. (Or: the sappy highschool Falice Christmas fic you didn’t know you needed, featuring Alice’s father in the role of Scrooge.)


Riverdale is much too cold in wintertime.

Alice has always thought so; she hates the rain they get, just shy of snow, never choosing to go one way or the other. It's dreary and dull, and it doesn't bring the sense of wonder with it that a fresh snow might do. Instead, it tires her out. As she sits now on the front steps of her porch, pegs delicately crossed, she tries not to shiver, clutching a mug of hot chocolate between her palms like it's her life force and wishing, just for a moment, that it were summer again.

She prefers heat to cold - heat she can compensate for, control. In heat, she can dress light, bring out the clothes she enjoys most, and the ones-

"What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

The ones they all do double takes for.

Looking up, Alice's lips curl upward into a reluctant smile. A boy with dark hair and eyes that match her drink (chocolate, warm) sits easily next to her, inviting himself into her personal space entirely and unzipping his leather jacket as he does. FP Jones has never been one to care about boundaries, after all. He smells like sandalwood, smoky, with just a touch of sweetness, and she does shiver then, but it's not exactly about the cold.

Though they don't know each other as well as they could, they're becoming close friends. He's in her English class, and he's good at it too. She's seen the grades he gets, even if he hides them from everyone else. It wouldn't do for his image to be seen as a straight-A student.

Serpents aren't straight-A students. It's a contradiction in terms. He is an absolute dichotomy in that, a paradox in his own way, and that is truly what drew Alice to him in the first place.

He helps her with her papers, and she pretends to think he's tough.

"They're fighting again," she says, casual to the point of fault. It's not like it's news to her, or to him for that matter, but that doesn't mean she wants to sit around and listen to her parents screaming at one another. She's heard the word "divorce" come up in conversation one too many times to be willing to entertain it any longer, and Alice knows if she asked them to stop they'd just laugh in her face.

 _"Why do we have to fight? What about Christmas spirit?"_

 _Alice's father turns to look at her, sneering harshly, and gives a sharp laugh. They don't even have a tree this year. There are no lights to speak of._

 _"I've decided to become Jewish," he spits. "There's no such thing as 'Hanukkah spirit.'"_

 _Alice doesn't quite know where her family's gone. They used to be so happy, back when she was younger. Dad would lift her up to put the star on top of the tree while Mom took pictures. They'd spend hours picking out the perfect present for her, going to store after store, and he'd let Alice get a candy cane if she wanted it. Mom would let her help bake the cookies for Santa, and they'd both sneak one before bed._

 _Now, it seems that the holiday tradition has become for Mom to dissolve into tears, Dad to excuse himself for an "aspirin", and Alice herself to leave the house entirely without even a word to either of them._

FP doesn't waste her time with meaningless platitudes, words that will do nothing to help her state of mind or her cracked and breaking family. Instead, he takes the jacket off, putting it around her shoulders instead, and, despite her assumptions, it helps, especially as he puts his arms around her too to compliment the gesture.

The leather she wears now provides comfort. It gives her a feeling of power, strength, because the logo on her back speaks of an entire organization, each member of which willing to fight and die for his companions. The Southside Serpents are formidable in a way she seldom allows herself to see, and the next sip of cocoa she takes goes down like alcohol, warming her, giving her courage.

"I see you," he finally answers, and how he understood her so perfectly just then she can't begin to comprehend but it's exactly what Alice needs to hear. She laughs softly, quietly, and when he suggests they go to his place to escape the nightmare her life has become she doesn't object at all.

~FAFAFAFA~

The walk is, by unspoken agreement, silent. His jacket remains on her shoulders and even if he's cold, even if he's uncomfortable, he doesn't show it. Right now, she is more important. She is what matters.

Alice's parents don't even really notice her anymore, but he does.

He notices everything.

He sees the gray in her eyes, how more pronounced it becomes when she's upset. The gently wisping curls in her hair, sometimes more tight but today done with less effort. He can tell from the draw of her mouth, the pallor of her skin, how unhealthy it has been for her to remain in that house, with those horrible words that no teenager should ever have to hear.

FP got them when he was young. When he was too young to really understand. He calls that a blessing.

Truly and honestly, FP has grown to care for Alice Smith. He watches her, takes it all in, and as her steps come to a slow his do as well. Soon enough, they're at the trailer, and while he'd probably be embarrassed with someone else he knows Alice will think of it more highly than her own home, worth five times as much as his own father has made in the past ten years but filled to the brim with hatred and losing quickly out on the feeling of hope.

He puts the key in the lock, turning it quickly. Again, he sees her, how she wants to get out of the cold and into… whatever his home might provide. Giving a gentlemanly bow, he smirks, gesturing for her to come inside, and she does so with a smile.

"Allie, look…"

He directs her gaze to just above where they stand, closing the door quietly behind them in the same moment. Alice laughs softly, biting her lip in a way that looks simultaneously innocent and exactly the opposite all at once.

"Mistletoe," they say together, and she wonders how he set this up. It must have taken a few tries to find the right way to tie it, and how to position it just right that they'd be standing here when they got home. He must have expected her agreement, the way she would have felt, and somehow that knowledge he clearly has of her makes her feel safe.

For a single moment, Alice doesn't let herself stop to think. She doesn't wonder why he'd put this here, why he'd want to kiss /her/ of all people when he could have his pick… she just turns, facing him head on, tightening the fingers of her right hand into his gelled hair and fitting his lips together with hers.

And, of course, he drops the keys.

They fall to the floor with a gentle clanging sound, skittering across the floorboards, but neither of them pay that any mind. He holds her, pulling her close, palms skating across the logo of his jacket. The recognition has him smiling into the embrace, and she is too, pressing up against him everywhere she can and, for the first time in a long while, feeling free. FP's hand comes around to cup her cheek, his fingertips cataloguing her jaw as he relies on touch to help him remember the sensation of kissing her.

Of course he can have his pick. And he picked Alice.

"Merry Christmas," he whispers, a smirk catching his features, and she laughs, so gently he can barely hear it. The both of them are short of breath, and he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with such caring that she can't help but feel giddy.

"Merry Christmas," she replies, keeping her voice low as her eyes dart to his lips again.

It's been years since she's meant that, but now?

Right now, Alice truly does remember the meaning of "Christmas Spirit", and it comes to her smelling like sandalwood, with just a touch of sweetness.


End file.
